


40 Miles From The Sun

by slash4femme



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Eventually Requited Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, M/M, McCoy struggles to overcome trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Unrequited Love, War Crimes, rape of main and secondary characters, talk of graphic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-08
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1380775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy gets captured but that's only the beginning of what they will have to learn to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in October 2009 
> 
> beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[ **cardiac_logic**](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/)who is both wonderful and awesome. Written as a follow up fic for [this prompt here](http://community.livejournal.com/st_tos_kink/485.html?thread=207077#t207077) over at st_tos_kink. 

I.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. James T. Kirk doesn’t leave people behind, not in that situation, not ever. When the medical away team goes down to deliver vaccines though, it seems safe enough, routine enough.

 It takes them four hours to even figure out that something’s very wrong, that the medical team isn’t coming back up. They hadn’t known there was civil strife going on down on the ground, that the planet’s centralized government had been under attack by terrorist groups for months. The local government hadn’t told them any of that when they’d made contact. As the Prime Minister tells Kirk when they beam down to the capital to figure out where the away team went, to acknowledge the rebels existence would be to empower them. It takes everything Kirk has not the shoot the smug bastard right where he stands.

They track the rebels for three days, both using the ships scanners and by foot. They find the security officer that had been on the away team to protect the medical personnel on the third day. He’s hanging by his ankles from a tree and there’s not much left, but enough to give Kirk some idea of what they did to him first. He’s been worried and scared up until that point, but when they cut the security officer’s body down he starts hating himself.  Spock must have been able to tell just by looking at him, because after they beam the body back up the ship he turns to Kirk. “To blame yourself is illogical, Captain,” he tells him softly. “You could not have known the danger they would be in.”

“These people have Bones.” Kirk doesn’t look at him, because he can’t.

Spock starts scanning the path again looking for the telltale energy patterns the rebels’ nuclear powered weapons give off. “I know.”

They almost found them two days later. When they raid the small town they find it empty except for a weapons cache, the mutilated body of one of the nurses and one hut in which the floor and wooden table are covered in blood. Kirk doesn’t want to know, but he doesn’t stop Spock from scanning it.

“It’s his?” Kirk can’t look at Spock again.

“Yes.” Spock puts away the medical tricorder.

Kirk kicks the chair across the room hard enough to break it. 

They beam the second body up to the ship and keep looking. They have every technological advantage; Kirk thinks it shouldn’t be this hard, on the other hand the rebels have lived here all their lives and the _Enterprise_ crew had done only a stage one survey of the planet. The next day Chapel contacts them from sickbay.

“We just finished the autopsy on nurse Howards.” She tells him, voice strained with emotion and exhaustion. “She was tortured to death,” she pauses for a minute, “she was also raped, repeatedly.”

Kirk sees something move across Spock’s face and pushes down his own panic and nausea.

“Find him.” Chapel’s voice is pleading.

Kirk looks up, and for the first time in days meets Spock’s eyes, “We will.”     

 

II.

They do find him. It takes them longer than it should, another three days, and they have to blow their way through most of a whole town worth of rebels to do it, but they do. Kirk will always remember the smell of blood, vomit, rotting and death that filled the tiny, filthy hut where McCoy is suspended, naked, from the ceiling by his wrists. When he sees him hanging like that Kirk really does think he’s dead, but Spock pushes past him and rushes to the other man, takes him around the waist and manages to get him up off the hook he’s hanging from and onto the floor. “Spock to Enterprise. Two to beam straight to sickbay, medical emergency.” Spock is barking into his comm. before Kirk can even move towards them and like that they’re gone. Kirk stands there and stares at the place where they were for a minute, then sets his jaw, tightens his grip on his phaser and goes to back out to end this once and for all.    

McCoy’s already been taken into surgery when Kirk beams back up to the _Enterprise_. Spock is still in sickbay, sitting in a chair, evidently meditating. Kirk doesn’t speak; he just pulls up another chair and sits next to Spock and waits.

Twelve hours later and more cups of coffee than Kirk can count, Chapel comes in and tells them that McCoy’s been stabilized.

“Physically at least,” her lips are pressed together in a straight flat line, “psychologically . . .”

“We understand, Nurse Chapel.” Spock stands, hands clasped behind his back, and Christine only nods curtly at him and goes back out. She doesn’t even try to ask for sympathy or comfort from Spock and that scares Kirk, a lot - makes him think they are going to have a long, long road ahead of them.  

 

III.

McCoy doesn’t remember waking up in sickbay; he doesn’t remember the first couple _weeks_ after he wakes up in sickbay. He remembers the torture, he remembers the rape, he remembers the helplessness, the pain and the fear, but everything after that . . .

It isn’t until he’s released from sickbay though, back to his own quarters, that he starts to realize just how much has changed. Ironically it’s his emotional state he notices first. He feels numb most of the time, and sometimes uncontrollably emotional for no apparent reason. He’ll get mad enough to throw and break things, or cry for hours for no reason he can think of. The second time he comes perilously close to bursting into tears in the middle of the mess hall for no reason whatsoever, he goes straight back to his room and punches the bulkhead until his hand is streaming blood. He can’t sleep without drugs, and he finds he can barely hold a coherent conversation. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but somewhere between his mind and his mouth the words just get lost, leaving him babbling like an idiot even on subjects he knows. Sometimes he’ll be in the middle of doing something completely mundane and he’ll just forget what he’s doing or how to do it, like the information’s just gone. He worries about brain damage, he knows he was hit pretty hard a couple times, but his whole medical team assures him there is no brain damage, and he’s seen his own file, he knows there is none. Sometimes though, he just can’t think straight, and that’s even when he’s not having a panic attack.

 Over the first couple months he also learns he’s become incredibly sensitive to touch. The first time Chapel touches his arm it takes everything in him not to hit her, and he digs his nails into the palm of his hand until he draws blood. That night he goes through his wardrobe and gets rid of every piece of clothing with short sleeves he can find; he can’t even bear to look at them. He learns to avoid being too close to people; he can’t ride a turbolift with another member of the crew, even Kirk, without having a panic attack. He can’t face Jefferies tubes at all. The first night back in his own quarters he takes a shower fully clothed because he can't stand the idea of being naked, it makes him want to vomit. He feels like an idiot standing there freezing in wet clothes, it's so fucking weak of him not even to be able to do this one simple thing. He sleeps in the same wet clothes too and figures he'll only have himself to blame if he gets sick from it. 

He also finds he can’t eat meat any more. The first time he smells it cooking he vomits until he can’t stand up. Then he lies curled on his bathroom floor, remembering the smell of burnt flesh, the feel of electrical burns across his thighs and stomach, the way Howards had screamed while they raped and killed her.

It feels like going crazy, made worse by the fact that he knows he’s not; this is trauma, and this is just the way it is.

Kirk takes him off duty, not that he misses much, the five-year mission is over; they are on their way home. McCoy works anyway though, he works on his research and starts a couple articles for the medical journals. It’s the only thing that he’s sure of anymore, the only thing that helps. Most of the time he stays by himself, except for the days when that becomes unbearable, then he goes to Kirk or even Spock’s quarters. He feels so damn pathetic, knocking at their doors, asking to be let in, but he’s enough of a doctor to know the alternative would be far worse. Mostly he lies on Kirk’s couch or on his bed fighting back vertigo and nausea, listening to Kirk talk quietly about his day and the working of the ship. A lot of the time it’s all he can do not to scream, but he doesn’t trust himself to be alone so he stays. Sometimes he falls asleep there and the next morning wakes to find a blanket folded over him and Kirk gone. Spock lets him lie on the couch or bed too, but Spock doesn’t talk to him, only goes about his evening activities like McCoy isn’t even there. McCoy finds he prefers this to listening to Kirk; he loves the Captain dearly, really he does, he just can’t deal with anything anymore. 

McCoy lies on Spock’s bed staring at the ceiling trying to fight down the equally overwhelming feelings of emptiness and nausea. He’s takes long, careful breaths to keep himself from hyperventilating. Turning his head he watches Spock’s meditation fire pot. That’s another thing he likes about Spock’s quarters - they are never really dark, Spock always has some kind of light on, usually not bright, but always there, and as much as it makes him feel like a pathetic child McCoy can’t handle the dark. Even thinking about turning off the lights in his own quarters makes him break out into a cold sweat, start shaking and hyperventilating until he’s afraid he’ll pass out. Kirk keeps the lights on all night in his quarters when McCoy is there, but it makes McCoy feel weak and guilty, like this is something he should be able to control, something that will make him a burden to others. At least with Spock he doesn’t have to feel guilty.  He looks at the ceiling again and then suddenly he can’t move, he can’t think, his hands are gripping the edge of the bed but that isn’t nearly enough to keep him from falling. _Hot searing pain across his_ _stomach, thighs, he can smell flesh burning and knows it’s his own. Then he’s on the floor, hands tied behind his back, blindfolded and someone kicks him in the head hard and he falls. Then he’s pinned to the floor with someone sitting across his legs, he’s naked and there are hands on his ass spreading him. He knows what's happening because it's happened before but he can’t breath, can’t even scream._ The front of his shirt feels cold; he finally manages to get one shaking hand to leave the bed and touch his shirt and only then does he realize he’s crying, soundlessly, tears just running down his face. He turns his head slightly to see Spock standing across the room watching. He closes his eyes and wishes not for the first time that they’d just let him die. After a minute the bed dips slightly and McCoy’s eyes fly open to see Spock sitting on the bed as far away from him as possible. For a minute their eyes lock and McCoy wonders dimly why he’s not panicking with Spock sitting so close. Slowly Spock holds out his hand, offering two fingers in a gesture McCoy has only seen once before, between Spock’s parents.

“Leonard,” Spock says very quietly and McCoy jerks again at the use of his first name. Slowly he reaches out and touches Spock’s fingers, just very briefly with the tips of his own; Spock shudders visibly but McCoy feels some of the grief, sickness and panic leave him and blinks up at the other man.

“How?”

Spock doesn’t answer, only sets his jaw and reaches out, firmly pressing his hand against McCoy’s and McCoy gasps and tries to pull away at the sudden contact, but he feels better, calmer than he has in weeks. They stare at each other for another long minute, and Spock reaches out again and slowly traces McCoy’s hand with the tips of two of his fingers. McCoy looks at their hands and then up, meeting Spock’s eyes, which are gentler than McCoy can ever remember seeing them. McCoy closes his eyes and swallows hard and then curls up on the bed turning towards the wall and away from Spock. After a few minutes he feels the bed move again and listens as Spock moves back across the room.

 

IV.

When they get back to Earth Kirk’s promoted, McCoy enters intensive trauma counseling and recovery, while Spock leaves for Vulcan.

Months later when McCoy is working at a genetics clinic, Kirk tells him over dinner that Spock went to Gol, then explains what that means and that if all goes well he won’t be coming back. McCoy doesn’t say anything to that, just concentrates on his food, but he can’t help thinking they are both losing something with Spock’s decision.

A few months later, he hops on a cargo ship heading for a clinic on genetic mutating diseases on a colony world. He’s more than halfway through growing a beard by then mostly because everyone tells him it doesn’t suit him. The work is interesting on Datra IX, the people nice but professional. He keeps mostly to himself, signs up for the early morning shifts when there aren’t a lot of people and he doesn’t have to walk to the transports after dark. He does mostly lab work, writes several articles for different medical journals and doesn’t try to make friends. The one or two people who ask him if he’d like to get a drink he smiles at and then lies to and says he’s married. He video messages Kirk every week and gets the latest news. The vertigo gets better, the dreams not as vivid, the flashbacks less; he can make it through most night with the lights off and only mild sedatives in his system. He still doesn’t eat meat or wear short sleeves, although he can manage a button or two at his collar undone.

Sometimes he thinks about Spock, wonders what made Spock make the decision to go to Gol, wonders if he’s finding what he’s looking for there. He misses Spock, he doesn’t lie to himself about that; he thinks he will probably always miss him, but people move apart and move on, it’s the nature of life. McCoy has enough to deal with remembering how to live his life again, but everyday it gets a little easier as he learns to adapt and cope.

He begins to think that he might be happy living like this.

 

V.

It doesn’t last, of course. Starfleet recalls him, Kirk has the _Enterpris_ e back, Earth is under attack and Spock is back from Vulcan. Evidently the whole Gol, purging of all emotions, never coming back, thing hadn’t worked out after all. McCoy can’t say he’s very sorry about that. It’s soothing having Spock there again, even if he’s even colder and more distant than he had been. McCoy tries to draw him out a little back into their old banter, more for his own frame of mind than anything else, but Spock won’t bite and instead seems to stay in the background watching McCoy and Kirk interact.

When he first came back to the _Enterprise_ McCoy wasn’t sure he’d be able to run a sickbay on a starship, and he can tell from Kirk’s eyes that although he’d asked for McCoy back he’s not a hundred percent sure McCoy can do it either. Turns out they’re both wrong; he does just fine. His work at least is something he still has, and when he’s in sickbay he can almost pretend everything is like the way it was. He even wears the new uniforms, open collar and all.

Spock is incredibly stupid, risking his life for practically nothing. McCoy tells him that in no uncertain terms, and while Kirk is overjoyed that Spock survived his little stunt, McCoy is madder than hell and can’t seem to get his hands to stop shaking. He watches Kirk hold Spock’s hand in sickbay and fumes over his Captain’s shoulder, giving Spock a look that tells him he’s in deep trouble.

They save the world of course, without killing anyone or having the Earth blown up. Starfleet hails them all as heroes and Kirk’s more than happy to call it a day.

McCoy waits until after all the fanfare is out of the way before cornering Spock in his quarters.

“What the hell was that?” Spock merely raises one eyebrow at him and McCoy crosses his arms over his chest. “Your little stunt with V’ger.” 

“I was attempting to communicate.”

“And that was the only way you could think of, Mr. Spock? Really, with that giant brain of yours, that was the best you could come up with? Because it was damn stupid.”

“I appreciate your concern, Doctor, but my actions have already been taken, therefore your outburst is illogical.” Both of Spock’s eyebrows are now raised.

“Don’t give me that. There was nothing logical about your actions or the risk you took for that matter.” McCoy points at him to emphasize his words, and Spock merely stares at him. After a few minutes of silence McCoy crosses his arms across his chest again. “What?”

“Forgive me, Doctor,” Spock takes a step towards him so that they are standing closer, although not close enough for Spock to be in McCoy’s personal space. “It has just been a long time since I have seen you this way.” McCoy stares at him and then drops his gaze to the floor.

“You left.” He doesn’t mean it to sound accusing because he hadn’t even realized he’d been mad about it until that moment.

Spock tilts his head slightly, watching him, “There were things I had hoped to accomplish.”

“But you didn’t.”

Spock inclines his head slightly. “On the contrary, Gol brought me much clarity.”

“Oh?”

Spock doesn’t answer directly, only takes another step towards McCoy and holds out his hand, two fingers extended. McCoy gapes at him.

“Spock?”

“Doctor.”

McCoy looks from Spock’s face to his still outstretched hand and very slightly touches the tips of his own fingers against Spock’s. He feels calmer almost at once, almost safe in a way he hasn’t felt in so long he’d forgotten he could feel like that. Spock gently traces his fingers down McCoy’s hand and then back up it. A Vulcan kiss, McCoy thinks dimly, then jerks his hand back.

“Spock, I can’t. Whatever it is you want. I can’t give it to you.”

Spock looks at him for a long moment; he doesn’t step back but he doesn’t try to touch him again either. “I do not want anything from you, Doctor,” Spock tells him, and McCoy’s mouth tightens.

“Well I don’t want your pity.”   

“I am a Vulcan. I do not feel pity,” Spock tells him stiffly, and McCoy laughs bitterly and turns away, walking to the view portal and looking out at the stars. “Leonard.”  Spock’s voice is gentler than it has been since he came back from Gol, “I have an apartment quite close to the Starfleet Academy. I would be most gratified if you would consider sharing it with me.”

McCoy turns to face the other man, arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the view portal. “What do you want, Spock?”

Spock comes to stand beside him at the portal and holds out his hand to McCoy again. “I want you to allow me to help you.” His voice is still soft, “Surely as a doctor you must see the logic in this?”

McCoy looks at Spock for a long moment and then down at Spock’s outstretched hand. He thinks about the nightmares that still plague him, the anxiety and fear that overtakes him sometimes for no apparent reason, the days filled with depression and nausea. He thinks of the calmness and safety he’s experienced every time Spock has reached out to him and finally nods.

“We can try.”

Some sort of tension seems to leave Spock at that, although there is no outward change, and McCoy tentatively reaches forward to trace Spock’s fingers with his own. A Vulcan kiss, he thinks again, but he knows that’s all he’s going to be able to manage right now. He hopes that can be enough for both of them.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> recovery is a slow process, learning to be together is a slow process, life is a process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[ **cardiac_logic**](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/)who is both wonderful and awesome. Written as a follow up fic for [this prompt here](http://community.livejournal.com/st_tos_kink/485.html?thread=207077#t207077) over at st_tos_kink. 

I.

Life with Spock is a routine McCoy can get used to. Kirk is back to fighting with Starfleet, while Spock works on his research and instructs at the Academy. McCoy works at the research hospital and instructs at the Academy medical school. Their days are spent apart and their evenings are quiet. Spock’s apartment, quite close to the Vulcan embassy, is large, and comfortably accommodates them both. McCoy would never admit it, but he likes not being alone when he comes home; he likes knowing Spock will be there, reading or working, making dinner or meditating. Kirk takes his two best friends living together in stride, although McCoy thinks it would probably make more sense to Jim if he and Spock were also in a relationship. Technically he supposes they are, although not a sexual one. They fight about work, chores or life in general like they are an old married couple. Spock cooks him dinner on a regular basis, they share the same bathroom, and sleep in the same bed. When he dreams of pain, fear and things he doesn’t want to name, Spock is there to shake him awake and tell him it isn’t real. They go over to Kirk’s apartment and all three have dinner together a couple times a week. McCoy regularly spends evenings with Jim when Spock is busy elsewhere.

After a few months McCoy admits Spock was right, Spock can help him, does help him. McCoy never really believed in all of the telepathy stuff Vulcans always go on about, but he has to admit, Spock’s touch helps, it helps calm and stabilize him, and Spock’s presence in his life is soothing, too, in a different way. Spock himself seems perfectly comfortable with the way things are, he does not talk about their relationship, and he does not ask for more than McCoy gives him. McCoy’s not even sure Spock wants more than what they have, he’s not even sure Spock thinks about him that way; aside from the finger touching, Spock’s never shown any sign of romantic feelings towards him and McCoy thinks that is probably for the best.

 

II.

They are eating breakfast together, and McCoy is half listening to Spock outline his plans for that day and half concentrating on scanning the news on a PADD on the table in front of him.

“Alright then, I won’t expect you for dinner,” McCoy sets the PADD aside and picks up his coffee, “which means I’ll probably eat with Jim.”

He gulps down the rest of his coffee and stands, moving around the table. “Tell your father I said hi,” he tells Spock, grabbing his coat, and Spock sets his tea on the table and offers McCoy his hand with two fingers extended. McCoy smiles at the gesture that’s become such a common occurrence in his life. He traces down Spock’s hand with two of his own fingers and then leans forward and kisses Spock on the cheek. “Have a nice day,” he tells the other man sweetly and leaves, not quite missing the startled look Spock throws him.

He makes it all the way to the hospital before he starts worrying. He’s never kissed Spock before, and Spock’s never offered him anything except for the finger thing, he’s not even sure why he did it in the first place, only that it seemed comfortable and natural. He’s missed that, he realizes; he’s missed affection being safe and comfortable. He likes that Spock can make him feel like that, likes that he can touch Spock’s hands, have Spock hold him around the shoulders at night, and not think anything of it. It doesn’t make him feel sick or panicky; it just is, natural, safe and comfortable. He just hopes he hasn’t crossed some kind of line.

By the time Spock gets home that night McCoy is already in bed pretending to sleep. He hears Spock move across the dimly lit room, hears Spock change out of his uniform into his sleeping robes, and then feels the bed move as Spock comes to lie beside him. Spock touches McCoy’s shoulder briefly and then turns over and McCoy sighs very softly. Maybe nothing has changed after all.

The next day passes fairly normally for McCoy. He works in the hospital’s lab and then makes his way to the Academy medical school where he gives a well-attended lecture. He eats lunch with Kirk and listens to him bitch about Starfleet brass, and McCoy doesn’t point out that the category now includes Kirk. When he gets home he finds Spock sitting at the kitchen table reading from a PADD and sipping tea.

“I have started dinner,” Spock tells him, and McCoy nods and heads for the bedroom to change out of his uniform and take a shower.

When he comes back out, dressed in street clothes, running his fingers through his still wet hair, he gives Spock a small smile and Spock stands and moves across the room to stand in front of him. Spock reaches out and takes both of McCoy’s hands in his and McCoy smiles at him, feeling himself relax into the touch. Spock watches him intently for a moment and then leans forward and kisses him lightly on the lips. It’s only a barely there, gentle press of lips on lips and Spock draws back quickly, watching McCoy carefully, and McCoy gazes up at the other man. Spock bends forward slightly and kisses him again, more firmly this time, and when McCoy feels the very small touch of Spock’s tongue against his bottom lip, he makes a small noise, clutches Spock’s hand tightly and opens his mouth. Spock draws back and McCoy looks up at Spock still clutching his hands and realizes that he’d been wrong, so very, very wrong. Spock did have romantic feelings for him. Spock twines the fingers of their left hands together and lets go of McCoy’s right hand to gently touch McCoy’s jaw. McCoy realizes too that this isn’t new, that Spock hasn’t just started to feel this way, that he’s probably felt it since Gol, maybe even before. McCoy feels his eyes mist over as tears come and Spock’s hand is on his face, touching very gently.

“Leonard, please do not.” Spock sounds about as stricken as it is possible for a Vulcan to sound and McCoy swallows several times and fights for composure.

“I can’t, Spock, I just . . .” He leans against Spock, presses his face against the other man’s shoulder as grief rolls over him in waves and Spock’s arm is around his waist, the other gently strokes the back of his head.

“It is alright, Leonard.”

“No.” McCoy pushes back away from Spock, suddenly angry. “No, it’s not alright. I want this, you want this, and it’s been years, but it’s like a part of me is gone and it’s never coming back.”

“Leonard,” Spock grabs his wrists loosely, holding him still, “please believe that I am content this way.” Slowly he pulls McCoy closer to him. “My life with you brings me much peace and balance.” They stare at each other for a long moment, McCoy still fighting back grief and self-loathing and Spock tugs gently at his hand. “We should eat,” he tells McCoy. “Dinner will not remain palatable much longer.”  

McCoy sighs but lets himself lead into the kitchen.

 

III.

It takes a long time for them all to figure out something is wrong after Spock dies. Well more wrong than Spock being dead. Kirk admits that he had originally thought McCoy had finally lost it. Hell, McCoy thought he’d just finally lost it, that Spock’s death was the final straw. It made sense and it was almost a relief; here he’d been fighting so long to remain sane and finally he’d lost the fight and he could just give up. With Spock gone he feels like giving up. Kirk does everything he can, lets McCoy stay with him so he doesn’t have to be at the apartment when the Vulcan embassy comes and takes Spock’s things. Sarek allows McCoy to keep anything of Spock’s he wishes, but McCoy doesn’t want any of it. He wishes he could grieve openly the way Kirk does, but he just can’t. It’s not that he’s afraid of what people might think, everyone already knew, it’s just that the energy to do anything, even grieve, seems to have left him. He feels numb in a way he hasn’t felt in years, in a way he hasn’t felt since  _it_ happened. He starts having memory lapses again, starts forgetting what he’s doing at random intervals. Then the voice starts, Spock’s voice inside his head. Except it’s not Spock, at least McCoy can’t remember Spock ever having even come close to using endearments when he was alive. The Spock in his head does, though. Not often, but sometimes when McCoy drifts between sleeping and waking he can feel Spock take his hand, hear Spock call him things like beloved, and words in Vulcan McCoy doesn’t understand. He chalks it up to a mixture of insanity, grief, and wishful thinking.

They lock him up finally; McCoy isn’t at all surprised. He is surprised and understandably pissed off when Kirk shows up and explains the whole thing to him. He appreciates the gesture, he really does, but Spock should have known better than to dump something else into his mind. Especially without telling him first. Would it have really killed him to have sat them both down one night after dinner and had a little talk about Vulcans and this thing called a katra? But of course this was Spock, it couldn’t possibly be that easy. God, but the man had been stubborn. Kirk gives him drugs, for which McCoy is eternally grateful. The rest passes in a haze as McCoy tries to keep himself lucid and sort out his own thoughts from Spock’s.  

McCoy wakes up on Vulcan to find his head blessedly clear of any thoughts but his own. Spock is alive, although without his memories, and only seemingly capable of correctly identifying Kirk, but alive. McCoy is grateful for that, he really is. The hardest part is sitting there, in Spock’s parents’ house where Amanda insisted he stay, while Kirk explains to Spock who he is. Not about their relationship, such as it had been, neither he nor Kirk want to go there, especially since telling Spock about that would mean telling him about everything else. McCoy really can’t face telling Spock about what happened to him at the end of the five-year mission while Spock sits and looks at him like he’s some kind of stranger.

He starts to adjust slowly to the idea that Spock might be alive, but their time together is over. Whoever Spock is now, it is obvious that his relationship with Kirk is more important than his relationship with McCoy. McCoy doesn’t even hate him for it; he understands really, there are some things that happen to you where you’ll never be the same again; God, does he understand that. It doesn’t make waking up alone any easier. It doesn’t stop him from feeling like he’s taken a physical blow at Amanda’s sympathy.

They are going to have to go back to Earth sooner or later to be court-martialed, and McCoy knows without a doubt he’ll go with the rest of the crew. He’s rather surprised when Spock opts to also go back with them.

 

IV.

McCoy collapse into a chair in the apartment he had once shared with Spock. He’s glad they aren’t all going to have to spend the rest of their lives in prison or even on one of the colonies. He’s glad Kirk has the Enterprise back, he’s glad they managed to save Earth again and no one was killed. He’s really very tired though, and he can feel a migraine coming on. He stands back up and strips out of his uniform and gets into some regular clothes. He considers drinking, and then decides against it. He’s not a complete teetotaler, but he knows that depression and trauma don’t mix with alcohol, and he’s no fool, he’s got enough problems without going there. He takes some pain medication for his head and a sedative to help him sleep and goes to bed.

He wakes up with sunlight shining on his face and gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom. He’s on his way down the hall to the kitchen when he suddenly realizes he’s not alone in the apartment. It isn’t a sound or anything that gives it away, he just knows. For a moment he freezes, panicked, his hands start to shake and his heart beats far too fast. Then he’s at the kitchen door having no actual idea how he got there and Spock looks up at him from where he’s sitting drinking tea at the kitchen table.

They stare at each other, but it’s McCoy who speaks first. “You remembered.”

Spock doesn’t say anything but the corners of his eyes crinkle in the Vulcan equivalent of a smile and McCoy practically throws himself at the other man.

Spock catches him smoothly about the waist, his grip tight, and McCoy presses himself against other man and kisses him as hard as he can. No tentativeness, no hesitation, no fear, he presses his tongue against Spock’s lips and feels the other man’s mouth open under his. McCoy kisses him deeply and lets his hands stroke across Spock’s face, neck and ears, tangling in his hair, then falling to his shoulders to pull at the traditional robes he’s wearing.

Spock breaks the kiss and holds McCoy a little away from him as he looks at the other man intently, “Leonard?”

“You were dead,” McCoy’s voice shakes slightly, but he doesn’t feel upset; he feels alive in a way he hasn’t felt in so very many years. “Please, Spock.” He kisses him again, lightly, little kisses across Spock’s lips and face, “Please.”

Spock kisses him back finally, captures McCoy’s hands in his and lets McCoy pull him out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. He lets McCoy pull his robes open and kiss down his neck across one shoulder, hands pressed firmly against the black undershirt Spock had on underneath. He takes one of Spock’s hands between his, holds it, looking up at the other man for a moment, and then kisses the palm of Spock's hand, licks up one finger and sucks it into his mouth. Spock actually gasps, and then there are strong fingers underneath McCoy's chin forcing his face up so that he can look at Spock again.

“Leonard, are you sure?”

McCoy pulls away from Spock’s fingers and sighs, “Do I look like I’m having second thoughts to you? Spock, sweetheart, please.”

Spock just nods and shrugs off his robe, kicking off his boots and stripping off his underclothes as well. McCoy pulls the top half of his pajamas over his head and lies back down on the bed. Spock comes and lies next to him on the bed, looping one arm around his waist, pulling him close so that they touch bare chest to bare chest, and for a very brief moment McCoy panics. _This is Spock_ he tells himself firmly, reaching up to touch Spock’s face, and Spock kisses him on the throat right under his ear, _it’s going to be alright_. Spock kisses down McCoy’s throat and along his shoulder, and McCoy feels across Spock’s bare back, gently rubs little circles into his sides, closes his eyes and listens to Spock’s increasingly erratic breathing. Spock kisses down the center of McCoy’s chest, along the light brown hair there, and McCoy makes small pleasure-filled noises, his fingers tangling with Spock’s on the bed.

“Spock,” he lets one hand fall against Spock’s shoulder pushing lightly, “up, please.”

Spock’s head snaps up and he makes to roll off of McCoy but McCoy grabs his shoulder again. “Nothing’s wrong.” He lets go of Spock’s shoulder and touches his face instead, “I just need you to move for a minute.”

Spock rolls off of him slowly and McCoy pulls at the waistband of his pants and shimmies out of them. Then they are both naked together for the first time and McCoy feels a pang of something - not panic or fear of being in a sexual situation for the first time since _it_ happened, but worry because of the age he knows his body is showing. Not that he was ever what you’d call good looking, but Spock looks a little older but almost unchanged and McCoy knows he’s all bones and angles. Then the absurdity of worrying about what he looks like naked when he hasn’t actually had sex in so many years hits him and he can’t help but laugh. Spock runs one hand down McCoy’s chest and quirks one eyebrow at him, and McCoy pulls him back so they are lying close together, Spock hovering over McCoy, held up on one arm.

“I’m not beautiful anymore.” McCoy tells him, a smile still curving the corners of his lips. Spock’s eyes soften more than McCoy would think possible, and he traces across McCoy’s face with one hand and then lets it skim, not quite touching, down McCoy’s body.

“Trust me, Leonard,” Spock tells him softly, one long fingered hand curving around McCoy’s erection, “that is very far from the truth.”

McCoy would have come up with a glib answer to that if he hadn’t been busy thrusting into Spock’s hand, one hand fisting into the covers. Spock presses his face against McCoy’s chest, panting and leaving open-mouthed kisses there. He reaches up with his free hand, searches out McCoy’s hand, strokes across his and then grips it tightly.

“Leonard.” McCoy thinks that he’s going to come soon and Spock’s barely touched him. Spock’s hand leaves McCoy’s, trails up to his face, strokes across his cheek. McCoy can’t think, can barely breath and it’s ok, it’s all ok. “Please come.”

He only dimly registers Spock’s words and his tone, rough, almost desperate, pleading. McCoy can’t even imagine all of the emotions he’s broadcasting; he’s surprised Spock hasn’t passed out from it all. He bites his lip, head falling to the side, a death grip on Spock’s shoulder, and comes.

Spock pants against McCoy stomach, open mouthed and completely lost, and McCoy stares at the ceiling and realizes two things: that he’s crying again and that Spock at some point has also come. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when things seem to be going well, the road gets hard again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[ **cardiac_logic**](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/)who is both wonderful and awesome. Written as a follow up fic for [this prompt here](http://community.livejournal.com/st_tos_kink/485.html?thread=207077#t207077) over at st_tos_kink. 

  
I.

Things are quiet and McCoy thinks he’s happy. They both go back to teaching, and watching Kirk go through his on again, off again relationship with the new Enterprise. Spock is different now after his death - calmer, gentler; McCoy would never say so but he likes it. He likes their new relationship too, likes that they touch more even though sex is still rare.

McCoy enjoys his work at the hospital and surprisingly he enjoys teaching even more. He has a brief fight with the Academy Medical School when they change the uniforms again to include a short-sleeve surgery smock, but they finally look at his medical record and give him an exemption. He starts teaching classes that semester instead of just guest lecturing. _Emergency Training for Starship Medical Personnel_ is his favorite class, and his most well attended. He becomes known, infamously so, for doing things like randomly setting off fake bombs in the lecture hall that do nothing but spray people with different color dye depending how close to the explosion site they were, then timing the students’ response time. Medical students with the aspiration of serving on a starship try to beat each other out to get a slot in one of his classes.

There are two Vulcan students at the Academy that year and McCoy takes a strange kind of pride in the fact that Spock gives them special attention. He even allows Spock to invite them to the apartment for dinner one night, although he’s not sure what they make of him. He finds that amuses him greatly; he spends the entire evening very purposefully not smirking at Spock. They are both very young and he tries to picture Spock being that young and totally fails. Hell _he_ can barely remember being that young. When they leave with all of the proper Vulcan courtesy, Spock takes him about the waist and kisses him, brushes his fingers across McCoy’s face, kisses his throat. Spock pulls him into their bedroom and gently undresses him and then goes to his knees still in full uniform, and McCoy grips his shoulder hard and can’t take his eyes off of him the entire time.

Later that night, curled around Spock watching him sleep, McCoy thinks he’s really very happy with his life, and realizes that a lot of the shame and self hatred he’s been carrying throughout the years is almost gone. He touches Spock’s cheek lightly and thanks whatever is looking out for him for this.

 

II.

“Please, Bones.” Kirk is using his charming, pleading ‘do anything for an old friend’ voice. “I know it’s just diplomatic missions, but it’ll only be a little while and I have the Enterprise back.”

McCoy sighs, he likes classes, he likes teaching, but he likes being in space and he’s always had a hard time saying no to Kirk.

“Spock’s already said yes.” McCoy’s head jerks up at this and Kirk smiles sweetly.

“Fine,” McCoy throws his hands up, “fine, I’ll do it.” Kirk just grins at him.

Being back in space is good and McCoy likes the diplomatic stuff; there are a lot fewer casualties that way.  Spock seems to like being back on a ship too, even if their cabin is small and McCoy’s whole staff is outrageously young. Some of them had actually been his students before Spock died. He tries hard not to even think about that most of the time, and just prays they’ll never see real action. The best part about being back on the Enterprise though, is Kirk; he lit up the moment they beamed aboard and his enthusiasm and excitement hasn’t dimmed yet. Kirk’s always been an upbeat, energetic person, but McCoy hadn’t realized until then how very much Kirk needs to be in space, needs to be captaining a Starship. He and Spock can do just fine on the ground teaching, writing, even participating in Starfleet politics, but Kirk is only really alive aboard the Enterprise. He does wonder though, how long they’re all going to be able to keep this up.

 

III.   

“We can’t bring him.” Kirk is using his commander voice.

“I agree.” Spock clasps his hands behind his back.

McCoy’s hands are sweating and he wipes them on his uniform trousers. “I am standing right here, you know,” he snaps, and both men turn to look at him. “It’s a formal event, with the government of a world we are trying to form an alliance with, senior personal are required to go.” 

“I’m making an exception and if Starfleet has a problem with that they can take it up with me.” Kirk folds his arms across his chest.

“And don’t I get a say in this?” McCoy bites back, “I’m going.”

“Leonard . . .”

He turns and glares at Spock, “No. I’m doing my job, damn it, they don’t get to take that away from me, not now, not ever.” He emphasize each word with a jab of his finger, “If either one of you have a problem with that you are more than welcome to lock me in the brig.”

With that he turns on his heel and leaves. He goes straight back to sickbay and locks himself in his office, before sinking down on his chair and putting his head between his hands. He takes deep, careful breaths, and wonders if he’s just being too stubborn for his own good, but he can’t imagine hiding up here on the ship when he should be down there with the other senior officers. He can’t imagine respecting himself if he did that. He clasps his hands together and notices they’re shaking, and prays they’ll stop by the time they need to beam down to the surface. 

 

IV.

The government building looks very similar to the last time McCoy was there, and he finds that deeply unsettling. There are new drapes on the walls but besides that, it’s still the same building. Last time, the Prime Minister of the central government had been a fat pompous man. The current Prime Minister is a small petite woman about ten years younger than McCoy, with a very stern expression.

When they first beamed down, fear had almost overwhelmed him. Memories of the last time he was here, receiving their hospitable welcome before heading off to be captured, raped and tortured, almost overpowers him. He shoves all that to the back of his mind though, concentrates on keeping his hands from shaking, on nodding when appropriate, on not showing how uncomfortable he is. Dinner goes smoothly enough; the Prime Minister seems to be immune to Kirk’s charms, but they do agree on several major political points. McCoy sips the cloying alcohol and concentrates on Spock, takes comfort from always being aware of where the other man is although they are seated several chairs away and have barely spoken all night. 

Dinner ends and all of the guests, senior officers of the Enterprise plus all the high-ranking members of the planet’s central government, are ushered into a larger ceremonial room where more food and drinks are provided. Kirk is deep in conversation with one of the defense ministers, and Spock is talking to a diplomat several paces away from McCoy, who carefully sips his drink and watches the crowd.

“I thought I recognized you.”

His first thought is that it isn’t real, this isn’t really happening. It’s stress and fear making him hear things that aren’t there. It’s been close to a decade; this planet has gone through a civil war and three régime changes.

“Doctor . . .? I do remember you were a doctor.”

The voice is deep, nondescript, but McCoy would never be able to mistake it. Somehow he manages to turn around. The man is older, he notices, but then so is he, just as tall as he was, taller than McCoy, heavier, with scarred hands. He’s also dressed in a uniform, and McCoy dimly notes his rank is high - general, admiral? He feels numb. It’s like his brain is simply refusing to communicate with the rest of his body, like he’s dreaming. A small, clinical part of his mind tells him he’s in shock, but even that seems unreal. His hands are shaking so hard he’s managed to spill most of his drink and his heart rating is so fast that if it were anyone else he’d be seriously worried about cardiac arrest, but he’s barely conscious of it now. The man takes a few steps closer to McCoy and smiles. The same cold, clinical part of McCoy’s mind that isn’t being strangled to death by terror notes that the man is drunk. The man takes several steps forward well into McCoy’s personal space, watching him with a slight smile on his face; he reaches out and strokes one hand lightly across McCoy’s cheek and down his neck, and McCoy is very dimly aware of his own glass hitting the floor.  Spock is suddenly there, standing behind him, and the man draws back his hand but doesn’t step away.

“I’m surprised Starfleet lets you serve, after the way we used to brake you so easily.” The man is swaying slightly from drink, but his eyes are still locked on McCoy’s; grey eyes, McCoy remembers them well. “But I suppose the Federation is just that weak.”

Kirk is making his way across the room towards them, but McCoy is only vaguely aware of this, like it’s happening somewhere else, somewhere far away from him. He’s also only distantly aware of the fact that his hands are clenched so tightly he’s digging blood marks into his palms. The only thing he’s truly aware of, though, are those eyes and that voice, so clear, so close, so real, after all those dreams, after all these years. Spock is suddenly in front of him, blocking his view of the man, shielding him from the man’s gaze.

“Do not touch or speak to him.” For as long as McCoy has known him, Spock has always valued his Vulcan control, but McCoy has never heard him sound this cold and emotionless before. The man looks from McCoy to Spock and laughs.

“I understand why you would want him at least once, I really do.” The man’s tone is almost conversational, “But more than that, why want something so many have already had? Why go where everyone has gone before?” He’s grinning now, still swaying from the effects of the alcohol. McCoy feels like he’s watching something happen to somebody else, except for the fact that his whole body is shaking now and he’s afraid he might actually fall down or pass out. Spock’s face is completely unreadable. Kirk is suddenly there, hand going to where his phaser would have been, as are the Prime Minister and two younger military officers.

“Out,” the Prime Minister points at the man, and then the two other officers, “Get him out, and make sure he stays out of my sight until he’s sober.” She turns to Kirk, “I think it would be best if you all left now.”

“How can you?” Kirk has that ‘this is so wrong I don’t even understand it’ look on his face, “How can you have someone like that in your government?”

The Prime Minister turns towards him and looks at him for a long moment before answering. “I am assuming it has been quite a while since the Federation fought a war in which losing was not an option. One where losing would mean complete annihilation or worse.” She folds her arms across her chest. “I am not making excuses for what was done. But if you had faced such a situation you would understand. Admiral Path is legendary for being a cruel man, but he is a fearless soldier and he has many powerful allies. There was a time when we needed him.” She looks passed Kirk, eyes settling on McCoy, “My deepest sympathies that you had to be involved.” 

Kirk stares at her for a long moment, and then slaps his hand across his comm. “Enterprise, three to beam up, now.”

 

V.

McCoy doesn’t even remember beaming up; he does remember trying to take three shaking steps off the beaming platform and falling to his hands and knees. Spock is there, not touching him, but just hovering over him and McCoy wonders dimly if he’s going to be sick. He takes several long, deep, partly strangled breaths.

“I am taking him back to our quarters,” Spock’s voice is still unusually blank even for him.

Kirk must have nodded because Spock pulls McCoy up; holding him tightly and professionally around the upper arms, he guides the doctor out of the transport room through the halls to their quarters. When he has guided them both into the room he lets go of McCoy, who stumbles forward slightly.

“Damn it.” McCoy is almost shocked when his voice only comes out in a hoarse whisper and he slams his fist hard into the bulkhead. Spock moves fast; catching him by the wrists and spinning him around, he shakes McCoy hard once and then guides him to sit in a chair. McCoy sits bent over as the real terror of what had just happened begins to hit him. 

“Are you going to be ill, Leonard?” Spock asks, and McCoy thinks about this, tries to stand up and then nods. Spock’s hands are back, all business like and professional, pulling him out of the chair and to the bathroom where McCoy collapses, shaking and retching onto the floor. Long after there is nothing left in his stomach he stays curled up on the bathroom floor, hair plastered to his head by sweat. Spock is also there, kneeling or sitting on the hard tiles, close, but not quite touching McCoy, a little bit behind him. McCoy rests his head against his hands, feels how they still tremble ever so slightly.

“There were five of them,” he says after what feels like forever. “Actually in the beginning there were twelve, but most of them kept changing, people would come and then leave, but five were always there. He was their leader.”  He feels empty now, like everything’s gone - grief, fear, anger - all of it just isn’t there. “The first time he . . .” His voice cracks and he licks his lips and tries again, pressing his fists against his eyes, not that it helps him not remember. “The first time he raped me was right after they killed the security officer, Wilson? I don’t even remember now. He just pushed me down by the side of the road; I remember it was hot, and there was a lot of dirt and dust that got on everything, rocks on the ground that cut my hands and knees all to hell.” He stops and for a long moment they sit in silence. McCoy wishes he could cry; for years he’s hated his own weakness that makes him cry at almost nothing, now his eyes feel hot and prickle but no tears will come. “The worst part was that I came.” His voice is very soft, almost too quiet to hear. “I was so afraid and it hurt so much but he touched me and I just . . . it was like I had no control over them, and no control over my own body either. I remember they laughed.” He stops, takes a long shaking breath, wonders if he’s going to dry heave again, “Most of the times after that I was blindfolded and gagged, both when they . . .”

He starts shaking again and Spock finally reaches out and touches his shoulder gently, and McCoy’s hand grabs Spock’s, twists their fingers together, holds on with a grip tight enough that if Spock had been human he’d probably leave bruises. He makes a small sound that he can’t control and crawls the few inches to Spock, wrapping one arm around Spock’s waist, pressing his face against Spock, not even caring that he practically has his head in Spock’s lap. Spock’s free hand comes up, pressing against his shoulder, cupping the back of his neck. McCoy just lies there for a long time, but finally he pushes himself up on legs that still shake. Letting go of Spock’s hand he climbs slowly to his feet and goes to the sink and washes his mouth out; behind him he hears Spock get to his feet as well.

“Come on.” He feels tired and listless, like he’s run a marathon. He doesn’t wait to see if Spock’s following, only leaves the bathroom and heads for the bedroom, where he kicks off his boots and peels off his red uniform top but doesn’t bother with the turtleneck underneath or his pants. He gets onto the bed as he is; after a minute he hears Spock moving around in the other room and then begin to signal the computer to turn out the lights.

“Don’t.” Spock pauses in the act of entering the room, and McCoy hugs his knees close to his chest, “Please just don’t.”

Spock only nods then signals the lights in their entire quarters to go dim but not off. McCoy lies down still hugging his arms around himself and watches Spock change into his sleeping robes. As soon as Spock is within arms length of him, McCoy reaches out and grabs the other man, not really caring what this says about him or what Spock might think; he practically drags Spock into bed beside him, then wraps himself around the taller man, holding on for all he’s worth, and Spock’s arms wrap around him almost painfully tightly. McCoy begins to shake again and he grits his teeth, pressing his face against Spock’s shoulder.

“Is it ever going to get any better?”

Spock’s arms tighten a little bit more around McCoy’s waist, “In time,” Spock’s voice is soft and even deeper than usual, “You know this.”

McCoy clenches his hands into fists to try and make them stay still and closes his eyes, although he doubts either of them will be sleeping tonight.

He must have slept though, because he wakes up, screaming and twisting, to find Spock also sitting up, holding his wrists tightly to keep McCoy from hurting Spock or himself. He blinks up at Spock feeling terrified and ill; his clothes have twisted around him cutting off blood to different parts of his body and his head aches. 

“Leonard.”

McCoy stares at him, tries to push the memories of being kicked, beaten and then bent over a rough wooden table naked and helpless out of his mind.

“Leonard.” Spock says again, letting go of one wrist to reach up and touch McCoy’s face. McCoy finally bursts into tears, and Spock wraps his arms around the other man and holds him tight.

 

VI.

“Taking him back to Earth, I think, would be for the best,” Spock points out, watching Kirk pace across his own office while McCoy slumps in a chair.

“Yes, and we’ve been needing to have a shore leave anyway so I think you’re right.” Kirk pulls his fingers through his hair, then sits down, “We can all go camping.”  

McCoy folds his hands in his lap, “Sure.”

Everyone’s treating him like he’s made of glass again, and he’s both annoyed and relieved by this. Annoyed because as bad as the last few days have been, they’ve been nothing like right after _it_ happened. He’s also grateful though, because the last few days have been bad and he can’t keep on going pretending everything’s fine, not and risk screwing up where it counts. Spock and Kirk exchange looks and McCoy tries to control his temper; they are both trying to look out for him and he knows that.

“I’m suffering from trauma, I’m not a child,” he snaps, and Kirk looks appropriately guilty.

“I apologize, Leonard.” McCoy can’t see Spock where he stands behind McCoy’s chair, and he can’t tell from his tone what he’s thinking.

“I’ll be alright.” McCoy pinches the bridge of his nose, “I just need some time.”

“It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let you go down there again.”

“Oh for God’s sake.” Kirk looks up at him and McCoy sighs. “It’s not your fault, Jim, it was my decision, and yeah, it turned out not to be the best one, but still, stop acting like you forced me down there. It’s not fair to either of us.”

Kirk nods once and then looks between McCoy and Spock. “You two want to go off shift early today?”

“If you can handle things without us, yes.” McCoy rubs his forehead again; he’s got a migraine coming on.

“No problem,” Kirk turns and keys something into the computer, “We’re heading home anyway.”

McCoy nods and tries not to look as incredibly grateful as he feels. He and Spock leave Kirk’s office and head for their quarters, walking side by side in silence.

“It’ll be nice to be back home,” McCoy notes, and Spock nods. They get to their quarters and McCoy keys the door open and then goes and searches out his pain medication and hypospray. His hands are shaking again, and he sits and clasps them in his lap until he gets it under control before picking the medication canister back up and loading the hypo.

“You think Kirk was serious about the camping?” he asks, and Spock looks up from where he’s been making tea and considers.

“There is no way to tell,” Spock tells him, serious, and McCoy can’t help but grin as he presses the hypo against his own upper arm.

“We’re going to be ok.” McCoy lets the hypospray fall onto the table and leans back in his chair; after a minute Spock places a cup of tea in front of him and sits down at the table as well. Spock considers, then reaches across the table and touches the fragile skin on the side of McCoy’s wrist.

 “Doctor McCoy, you are the strongest individual I have ever encountered,” Spock watches him for a minute, head cocked to one side, “and I believe we will.”

McCoy nods once, picking up his tea, and takes a sip. He leans back, closing his eyes, thinks about Earth, and going home.  

 

 


End file.
